My book, Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, just garnered its 50th review on Amazon!

It’s been a really tough week for a variety of reasons, so I’m going to celebrate quietly.

If you haven’t yet ordered your own copy of Mayhem, it’s only $2.99 as an e-reader on Kindle and $11.99 for the paperback on Amazon. I know the author (me) would appreciate it. And if you have read it and enjoyed it, tell someone else.

Peace, people!

Three Fact Friday

I didn’t know what to write today, so I copied a blogger I follow on Facebook, who on Fridays lists three facts about her week and then invites her readers to post three facts about theirs. So here goes:

1. I had my first ever physical therapy session today on my frozen shoulder and it’s so sore. I took the pain meds my doctor prescribed and now I’m as dizzy as a drunk frog.

2. I love my grandkids more than they will ever realize. I love them so much it hurts sometimes.

3. I’m craving Italian for dinner, but Studly is exhausted and doesn’t want to go out. I’d call in an order and bring our favorite meals home, but I still have that drunk frog thing going on.

Okay, it’s your turn. Hit me with your three facts.

Ginny & Georgia & Me

On Netflix, there’s this show called Ginny & Georgia. It’s full of teenage angst, and oddly enough, one of Studly Doright’s golf buddies suggested that we watch it. Weird, right?

We’ve now watched four episodes and while we agree it’s a cute show, we aren’t sure why the hell we’re watching it. I almost feel like a voyeur watching a bunch of cute teenaged kids running around doing things I certainly never got to do as a teenager.

Maybe I’m jealous. Okay, of course I’m jealous. I was so meh as a teenager that the opportunities to do the kinds of things the kids on this show do were never made available to me. BUT, I had a really good high school experience. Maybe I wasn’t Miss Popular, but I had a great group of friends and the worst trouble I got into was staying out too late on graduation night the year I was a sophomore. Such a badass.

Okay, I’ve got to go. Time for another episode.

Peace, people.

Midnight Epiphany

Yesterday I wrote like a mad woman on my sequel to Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, chewing up words and spitting them out onto the blank page like so many tiny sunflower seeds. Days like that are hard to come by, so I buckled up and enjoyed the ride. Too many mixed metaphors already? Sorry, sort of.

But in the middle of the night I woke up with a word, actually a name, on my mind—Gary. My subconscious sent me a message: Sweetie, (I often call myself ‘Sweetie’ just because I can) you have two characters named Gary.

Well, hell. Thank goodness for the ability to quickly locate every mention of Gary and decide just which character gets to keep the name. Should I flip a coin? Meditate on it? Draw a number from a hat? Maybe I’ll just ask Alexa.


And with what name should I replace it? Accepting suggestions that don’t begin with a ‘G’.

Peace, people!

Movies You Hate to Love

Everyone has one—that movie you love, but everyone else hates. The movie that, when you tell someone you’ve watched it multiple times, on purpose, they make a face that makes their disdain clear.

Me: I’ve probably seen Napoleon Dynamite twenty times.

Then: Ew! We thought that movie was juvenile (or crude or beneath us or just awful).

Me: Can’t disagree with you there. But I love it.

But when you find another soul who also has an affinity for your awful movie it’s one of the best feelings in the world.

So what’s the movie you hate to love? I have a whole list of them, but I don’t want to influence anyone.

Peace, people!


Do you remember what you wanted to be when you grew up? Depending on the day of the week, I wanted to be either an astronaut, a ballerina, or a famous author, like Dr. Seuss. An elementary teacher told me only men could become astronauts, so that was out, and since I was never allowed to take ballet classes, that one got scratched.

Occasionally I do still pretend to be both an astronaut and a ballerina, though. Sometimes simultaneously. It’s great fun, and when one is weightless, ballet is much easier.

And now, I’m an author, but hardly famous. At least not in the real world.

Peace, people!

Studly Cacti

Studly Doright grew up riding dirt bikes along the banks of the Canadian River north of Amarillo, Texas. In his youth, most weekends were either spent there or at a local motocross track. He was quite the dashing racer in his day. This past week he, along with a few family members and friends, returned to the Canadian River for a couple of days of adventure riding.

But it’s been a few years since Studly plied his skills riding at the river, and the bike he’d intended to ride, the lightweight Kawasaki KDX, wouldn’t idle correctly, so instead he rode his backup bike, a much heavier Suzuki DR 650. By the second day of riding, the weight of the 650 became a liability, and he crashed a few times. Studly isn’t accustomed to crashing.

To add insult to injury, one of those crashes landed him in a cactus. In the photo below, he’s engaged in removing cactus needles from his glove. Ah! Good times.

He said it took an hour to get all the needles out.

Peace, people!

Three Generations

From left, our son Jason, my husband, Studly Doright, and our grandson, Jackson.

Studly Doright and I were in the Texas panhandle this past week. On our way to his mom’s place in Hereford, Texas, we stopped for the night in Wichita Falls where we picked up our son and his son, and loaded up their motorcycles.

The three of them, along with a carefully selected group of friends and family members, embarked on two days of motorcycling along the Canadian River just north of Amarillo.

It was our grandson, Jackson’s, first real riding experience. Outside of riding a little motorcycle around our yard at Doright Manor, Jackson had never really gotten to experience what motorcycling is all about—the hills and gullies, deep sand and water crossings. This week he encountered all of the above while learning to use a clutch and shift gears. By all accounts he acquitted himself admirably.

His Poppa, aka Studly Doright, had a blast riding with him and with our son, Jason. They’re already saying, “Next year….”

Peace, people!